


Till All the Pain's a Cloud of Dust

by Angelise (angelise7)



Series: Never Forgotten [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of a past relationship for DiNozzo, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:47:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4875703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's something that needs to be done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Till All the Pain's a Cloud of Dust

 

The sun had barely nodded its greeting to the new day when Jethro took his place at the fence that surrounded the 90 acre field. Shifting his steaming cup of java to his left hand, he wrestled his shades from the inner pocket of his jacket and slid them on. Not only would they protect his eyes from the strengthening sunlight creeping over the horizon, but they would also hide the evidence of his past sleepless night.

He allowed the barely discernible appearance of a smile to take shape. Sleepless nights were becoming the norm for him, and, if asked, he would reluctantly admit that not all of those nights were because of work. Not since he and . . . .

The clearing of a throat directed him away from his thoughts. and he shifted his attention to the man leaning on the fence beside him. A dirty Braves cap that had seen better days was pulled low over a face that reflected more years of misery then joy. Beneath the brim of the cap lived a pair of stormy blue eyes. Earlier that morning those same eyes had taken their measure of him and, without a doubt, had found him lacking in the attributes deemed worthy. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but this time, for some reason, it bothered him. He had the shadow of a memory dodging his relationship with DiNozzo and on this day in particular, he needed to portray the image of a man worthy of not only DiNozzo’s trust and respect but also his love.

A spatter of tobacco juice hit the ground near his right foot, and Jethro recalled the Skoal tin that had been sitting on the kitchen table while he was enjoying a breakfast guaranteed to return him to ICU. The man standing beside him, the cook of that artery clogging breakfast, had taken possession of the tin with an arthritic hand ravaged by decades of hard work. Earlier that morning that same hand, the one now clutching the Skoal tin as if it was a talisman against all evil, had trembled slightly when offered in a welcoming handshake the moment Jethro had stepped inside the century old farmhouse.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he noted the man keeping him company was discarding the threadbare denim jacket he’d grabbed upon leaving the house. Beneath the jacket, the man wore a loose-fitting t-shirt emblazoned with the familiar **Army** **Strong** logo. The shirt obviously belonged to someone with broader shoulders and a wider chest, and it didn’t take a far stretch of the imagination to discern who had been the true owner of the shirt. Jethro had seen the photographs both in this stranger’s home and in the privacy of his own. He knew the face even though he had never met the man.

The ending strains of Alan Jackson’s _Don’t Rock the Jukebox_ serenaded the return of the dented and scarred Ford truck. The vehicle’s sudden braking spewed mud, grass and dead leaves everywhere, and Jethro tried to ignore the debris that littered his trousers and shoes. The man beside him showed no such restraint; he uttered several curses and began stomping the ground with his John Deer work boots, dislodging the rubbish clinging to his jeans.

“Damn boy! Never could break worth shit.”

Despite the somberness of the day, Jethro let a genuine smile slip free.

“I agree.” He indicated his head with his near empty coffee cup. “His driving has inspired many a gray hair.”

Before the words had completely left his mouth, DiNozzo appeared at his side. His young lover handed over the truck keys and a pair of dog tags to the weathered owner of the farm they were visiting. He watched the two of them embrace and listened with half an ear to their brief conversation. He heard the words ‘Arlington’ and ‘gravesite’ but not much more. His jaw tightened with concern when he saw DiNozzo frown and could only assume it was because the older man was shaking his head in refusal to something his lover had said. When DiNozzo’s frown deepened, Jethro was ready to intercede but before he could utter a word, the man turned away and headed toward the truck.

“Tony?”

Without warning, he found his arms filled with the familiar and welcomed weight of his lover. He didn’t need to see the hazel-colored eyes that greeted him every morning to know they were filled with tears of loss. Arms that shook with exhaustion returned his embrace, and he automatically tightened his hold. He then claimed a handful of hair that had been tangled beyond disrepair by the wind that had whistled through the open windows of the truck while DiNozzo had driven it wildly across the harvested field. Cradling his lover’s head close to his own, he offered a whisper-soft kiss to a cheek that had yet to make its acquaintance with a razor.

“Tony?” he repeated.

“I drive his truck, Jethro. Every year on his birthday, I drive Jeff’s truck.”

 

The End

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This particular selection of my 'Not Forgotten' series comes to you courtesy of Voice contestant, [Kristen Merlin](https://youtu.be/FW6WomJP1Wo) and her rendition of Lee Brice’s ‘I Drive Your Truck.’ The emotions her voice evoke demanded the muse create what you have just read.
> 
> Thanks for reading and . . . .
> 
>  
> 
> [You can follow me and my eclectic tastes on Tumblr!](http://angelise7.tumblr.com/)


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